


Hope Amongst The Shards

by giraffewrites



Series: For The Time You Chose [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Redemption, Bonding between siblings, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 03:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffewrites/pseuds/giraffewrites
Summary: “The Sci-Fi channel’s showing Blade Runner,” Max says, her fingers securing her braid with a hairband. “El was gonna stay to watch it with me, but her dad wanted her home. Wanna take her place?”More sibling bonding, Steve being defensive over Narnia, and Billy realising fixing his relationship with Max might just be an option.





	Hope Amongst The Shards

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this a little later than I wanted to, but at last, I'm posting! Thank you for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks this series has had so far, it means so much <3
> 
> I can't decide if I'm happy with this instalment or not, but I think it's a case of 'I've read this so many times and it's my own writing I'm sick of it' type thing

It’s hard not to fall to his knees the moment Billy gets home. There’s not a bone in his body that isn’t aching. The kitchen light flickers as he sits down at the table, head in hands. Work was dreadful. His shift had started with a careless mother letting her child go in the pool when he couldn’t swim, and ended with another kid throwing up in the shallow end as a storm started brewing.

A cold glass of water proves useless in regards to trying to clear his headache. He pops two Advil and heads to the bathroom for a bath.

He can’t help but moan when he’s submerged in water. Usually he takes shower, not only because they’re quicker but because Neil will bitch about how a bath takes up too much water. Without an ounce of guilt, Billy lays there for so long that he loses track of time. Only when the water starts turning lukewarm does he get out.

As he dries himself off, the mirror catches his bruise on his hip. Billy inspects it briefly, glad it’s fading and throws a pair of shorts on.

Sinking to his knees, he pulls a storage box out. When the previous owners were decorating, they’d missed a section of Billy’s floor. The rest of his room is covered in carpet accept one area, exposing a broken floorboard. It’s home to the possessions Neil disapproves of, but Billy refuses to get rid of. Next to _Tales of The City_ is his _Wham!_ cassette, unable to be displayed on the shelf like the others.

He slots it into his Walkman, headphones on as he stretches out on the bed. Before he knows it, he’s fast asleep.

It’s dark outside when he wakes up. It’s nice to wake up on his own terms, and the rain hitting his window soothes the initial anxiety he always awakes with. His bedsheets twist as he moves onto his side, fingertips reaching out to turn his alarm clock. Quarter past nine.

He finds his slippers under his bed, and once they’re on his feet he tidies his hair and heads to the kitchen. Max and her weird friend (Ellie, maybe?) are sat at the table, heads whipping up as soon as Billy’s foot enters the room. He grunts out a hello and gets the cereal from the cupboard.

Billy’s pouring milk over his cereal when there’s a horn sounding from outside, and the next thing he knows, it’s just him and Max. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes. I can cook.”

Billy snorts. “You can make a sandwich and heat up beans. I wouldn’t class that as cooking.”

“But making a bowl of cereal is?”

“Touché.” He joins her at the table.

“The Sci-Fi channel’s showing Blade Runner,” Max says, her fingers securing her braid with a hairband. “El was gonna stay to watch it with me, but her dad wanted her home. Wanna take her place?”

Sci-Fi’s not Billy’s favourite genre, and Blade Runner’s never held his interest. But he hasn’t got anything better to do. “Sure.”

They turn the lights off and switch the TV on, catching it just in time.

_There’s a bruise forming under his right eye, a smear of blood covering tanned skin. Billy whimpers as Max brushes one of her mother’s cosmetic remover wipes over the cut, tears cascading down his face._

_“Sorry,” Max winces, noticing the pain on her step brother’s face. “The blood’s gone. What plaster do you want?”_

_Billy looks between the Scooby-Doo and Looney Tunes plasters. He rubs his eyes and points to the Scooby-Doo one, letting Max put it over the cut. He watches as she gets up and pokes her head out the bedroom door._

_“They’re gone,” she informs him. There’s no time to answer; Max takes him by the hand, hauling him up and to the living room._

_With the lights off and TV on, Max grabs the blanket for their parents’ room and puts their favourite film on. The Lorax. The TV illuminates the room and Max covers the two of them with the blanket, as if it has the power to protect them._

_“One day,” Max begins as the adverts start to play, her hand pats Billy's, “you’ll be too big for him to hurt you.”_

Max is asleep by the time the credits roll. She’s stretched out in the arm chair, arm hanging over the edge with her legs curled up beneath her. She’d fallen asleep half way through, waking up randomly throughout the film, but slept soundly for the last half an hour.

Billy turns the TV off and crouches down in front of Max, lightly shaking her shoulder. “Max, the film’s over,” he tells her. Her eyes open, arms curling to her chest. “You fell asleep.”

Max hums. “I know,” yawns, borrowing her head into her arms. “Thanks for waking me.”

Billy heads to his bedroom, leaving Max to her own devices. As always, he opens his window and gets ready for bed. _Tales of The City_ is nearly completed, meaning he should get it finished by tonight.

He’s three pages away from the end of his book when he realises the living room light is still on. When he goes out to check, he finds Max has fallen back asleep, only this time on the couch. For a few seconds he debates between waking her and letting her sleep, and decides on the latter. He retreats to his room in order to find what he needs, and returns to the living room moments later with a blanket.

Billy’s careful to lift her head in order to slide a pillow under. He puts the blanket over her and turns the light off, heading back to his room.

Billy had planned to spend the day on his own, but that went to shit the minute Max saw him about to leave the house. She’d asked him to take her to the library, and Billy couldn’t see the point in saying no when that where he was going himself.

Stood in the poetry aisle, he feels lost. Fiction has always been his go to, but studying poetry in his last semester of school awoke an interest in him. The problem is, is that he doesn’t know where to start. Asking his teacher for guidance wasn’t an option, not only because school was out but also because she hated Billy. He doesn’t know why, with English being one of the few subjects he actually cared about. Maybe, he thinks, it’s because he challenged her analysis of Curly’s Wife when studying _Of Mice and Men_.

“Well shit, you never struck me as the poetry type.”

Billy turns to find Steve stood there, a dopey smile on his face. “I’m full of secrets,” he shrugs, standing up. “Although I’ll admit Harrington, you don’t seem like the type to be reading Shakespeare sonnets. ”

“I’m not here for poetry, I’m trying to find the science section.” He continues when Billy cocks an eyebrow, “For Dustin. His mom grounded him but he’s insistent on doing research, so I said I’d sneak it to him through his window.”

“Wow, you truly do go above and beyond for your kids,” Billy teases.

“Yeah yeah whatever,” Steve dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Are you actually here for poetry?”

“Yep,” Billy pops the p. His focus returns to the book. He’s speaking mostly to himself when he mutters, “No idea on what to take out though.”

Steve moves to stand next to him, both their eyes scanning over the spines of books. “I can help with that,” he looks at Billy, “pick a number, one or two?”

“What?”

“Pick a number,” Steve repeats, scratching behind his ear, “one or two.”

Hesitantly, Billy responds, “Two.”

“Now pick a number from one to twenty six.”

Billy doesn’t understand how this is supposed to help him, yet finds himself answering, “Twenty-three.”

When Steve starts moving down the aisle, Billy follows. Steve’s eyes carefully scan over the books, and he holds a finger up to Billy when he tries asking what he’s doing. They stop at the section titled ‘AUTHORS: LAST NAME: ‘O’’. Steve selects two books and holds them behind his back, and asks Billy to pick his left or right arm. Billy picks left.

“Here.” Steve hands Billy one book and slots the other back onto the shelf. “Your book.”

 _Poems, 1892_ , by Oscar Wilde.

After briefly studying the book, checking the quality and context of it, Billy nods his head. “Thanks. I have to ask, where the hell did you come up with this… choosing system?”

Steve snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “My nanny used to use it,” he starts walking, Billy next to him. “She got sick of reading The Chronicles of Narnia all the time, so she’d bring me here to pick out new books.”

“Wait, you liked The Chronicles of Narnia?”

“You didn’t?”

Catching the defensive undertone, Billy raises his hands. “I didn’t mind them. They just weren’t my favourite.”

“What was your favourite?”

“Probably Charlie and The Chocolate Factory.”

Steve stops in his tracks. “Hold up,” he looks Billy in the eyes, “you prefer a weird man with a chocolate factory to a series where there’s a talking Lion?”

Billy doesn’t have the chance to answer.

“You prefer Oompa Loompas to Aslan?!”

Billy doesn’t know if to be confused or amused by Steve’s outrage. He buys into it. “Oompa Loompas? What the hell are those?”

“What the hell are those?! Billy what-“

Their conversation is interrupted by the librarian, stood in the music aisle. “If you two don’t quiet down, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Sorry,” they say in unison.

Their conversation picks back up when they’re in the science aisle. “I know what an Oompa Loompa is,” Billy confesses. He picks up a book on psychics, “I was pulling your leg. But for the record yes, I do prefer Ommpa Loompas to Aslan.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re crazy.”

“For what?” Billy chuckles. “Liking Oompa Loompas?”

“Yeah, when you prefer them over talking lions!”

The horror in Steve’s voice has Billy laughing. He shakes his head, “I never said they were my favourite character, though.” The interest in Steve’s eyes make him continue, “Charlie. He was my favourite.”

Steve’s eyes are looking at book spines when he asks why.

_Because he was a kid in a bad situation but it got better_ stays in Billy’s head. “I just liked him. The other kids were annoying.”

Steve hums. “I suppose you’re right… aha!” He pulls a large hardback off the shelf, almost dropping it when it’s in his arms.

“Need a hand?”

“I’ve got it,” Steve insists.

The line to check out books isn’t long, but it’s not fast either. There’s only three people in front of them but one had forgotten her library card and needed to fill out a form, and the other two are mother and son, checking out what Billy thinks might be half the children’s section. Billy looks around when suddenly, something catches his eyes.

There’s a box full of cassettes on the desk in front of them. A neon green sign is stuck on the box, _‘used cassette tapes. 25 cents each’._

“What’re those?” Steve asks.

“Used cassettes,” Billy keeps rummaging through them, “I’m trying to see if I can find something.”

Steve joins him in looking, but loses interest quickly. Billy on the other hand, keeps looking until the librarian asks for his book.

“And this,” he places a cassette on the table. _A Night At The Opera._ He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, only for it to be empty. He checks his other pockets and his jeans only to find they’re also empty. “Shit,” he looks at the librarian, “I left my wallet in the car. I’ll go get it.”

He’s walked away before she can reply, leaving Steve and the people behind him. Max is in the car, and Billy doesn’t miss the way she raises her eyebrow as he goes over. He opens her door, “Move your legs.” She does so, allowing him to get his wallet from the glove compartment.

Just as he’s about to re-enter the library, Steve walks out.

“She was getting pissy,” he says, handing Billy his book and cassette. “The cassette’s on me.”

When Billy opens his wallet, Steve takes a hold of his wrist, the pad of his thumb brushing the bottom of his palm. Billy looks up at him. “I’m not a charity.”

“And I’m not being charitable. It’s twenty five cents, it’s nothing.” Steve’s fingertips brush across Billy’s skin as he lets go. “Don’t worry about it.”

Billy huffs, but puts his wallet in his back pocket. “Fine.”

It’s four thirty when Billy hears a loud bang. After dropping Max off at the mall, he’d driven to the quarry. As far as outdoor activities in Hawkins go, they don’t. Other than the pool and kids park, there’s nothing. It’s times like these that Billy misses living close to the beach.

The quarry has been Billy’s go to place ever since Neil moved them all out to Hawkins. Following a rather nasty fight with Neil, Billy had fled from the house. With no idea of where he was going, he’d ended up at the quarry. A large tree had provided shade from him as he cleaned his bloodied face with his shirt.

That same tree came in handy this afternoon. He’d sat under it for hours as he read poetry, only heading home when he couldn’t go a second longer without writing on the pages. That’s the biggest drawback for Billy. You can’t write on library books. The few books he owns are covered in annotations, offering his interpretations and insights into the highlighted words. Whilst some people deface library books without a drop of guilt, Billy can’t. Not only is it pointless (his annotations are his to keep, and his alone), but it ruins the experience for others who take out the book. Thankfully he found an empty notebook. It now homes to his annotations of the poems.

The kitchen is filthy when he steps in. Flour, sugar and cocoa powder coat the countertops in a thin dust, some even laying on open cook books. What must be every pan and utensil they own are on display, and three cakes are on top of the cooker. One’s burnt, the next is too flat, and the last one barely looks edible. He leaves the kitchen to stand on the porch, spotting Max on the road.

“Hey!” He shouts, taking her attention away from her skateboard. He sparks up a cigarette, “What the hell are you doing in the kitchen?”

Max tucks her skateboard under her arm as she makes her way up to the house. “Baking.”

“You better clean it up,” Billy says. “I’m not cooking when the kitchen’s a shithole.”

Max rolls her eyes, walking through the front door. “I will.”

Unlike Susan, Billy can actually cook. Neil started making Billy cook at twelve, and before she left, cooking was one of the ways Billy and his mom would bond. He’s also good at baking. Although he’s always had a natural talent and passion for it, whereas his mom had to show him certain techniques and tricks for cooking.

The kitchen is silent as the two of them sit across from one another. Max isn’t bothering much with her food, guiding her spoon through the chilli con carne instead of actually eating it.

“All right, what is it?”

Max looks up. “What’s what?”

“Up with your mood,” Billy tears off a piece of his cornbread, “and don’t bullshit me and say nothing.”

There’s a brief silence. Billy’s about to continue but Max beats him to it.

“Baking is stupid. The books are outdated.”

“Why are you so pressed about it? Baking isn’t a thing most people can do naturally, you need to learn how to do it.”

“I haven’t got time to learn,” there’s a mocking tone to her voice, “I need a cake tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“I lost a bet with Lucas and the consequence was baking a cake for movie night tomorrow.”

“Just buy one?” Billy suggests, unable to see the big deal.

“That’s cheating. I don’t cheat,” Max deadpans.

Billy rolls his eyes. “If it means that much to you, after dinner I’ll show you how to bake.”

Max visibly perks up. “Really?”

“Really,” Billy confirms. “Now stop playing with your food and eat it.”

If possible, Billy would bake much more often. It’s one of his favourite past times and he can’t deny the tension it frees him from.

“Woah woah woah,” Billy steals the bag of sugar out of Max’s hands, “way too much too soon. Measure it.” Admittedly, baking with Max is much more stressful. She goes at one hundred miles an hour and wants things done as quick as possible. “That’s better,” he nods as she adds a measured amount of sugar into the bowl, “now stir it.”

Max’s vinyl player is sat near the microwave, playing an album Billy isn’t familiar with. Instead of making the chocolate cake Max had been attempting to make, a Victoria sponge cake is now in the works. Not only because it’s easier, but because Max used up all of the cocoa powder.

“When did you learn to bake?”

Billy shrugs. “Just kinda knew how,” he admits.

“Maybe you should write a cookbook,” Max jokes.

“Or I could write this recipe down for you,” Billy offers, “then you’ll be prepared for when you lose another bet.” His smugness is short-lived, Max punching him in the arm.

When the mix is at the right consistency, Max transfers it to a tin and then to the oven whilst Billy sets the timer.

“Call me when the timer goes off,” Billy says.

“Okay.” Max moves the mixing bowl to the sink before briefly wrapping her arms around Billy. “And thanks again.”

Taken back, Billy squeezes Max’s shoulder. “No problem.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Ollie for not only helping me with the baking knowledge, but for being an amazing baker himself.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @giraffewrites


End file.
